


The Riverside

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, Sibling Incest, they werent lying when they said everyones got nine different names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: Over the years, the riverside was visited by many. All of them stumbled across it accidentally, and all of them left willingly. This is each of the characters of The Great Comet reflecting on the events in the story.





	The Riverside

**Author's Note:**

> This story wavers in and out of canonical relationships. The italics are the many ways the other characters know Pierre. I kind of lost track of this towards the end, but hopefully the basic plot can be understood.

It was hard to believe that Bolkonsky had ever been a young man, but he had once. It was he who discovered the riverside first.

There was a rock by the stream. He would go there in the summertime and sit there. He had friends, yes, but he never brought them there – the place felt too tranquil, to serene, and sometimes it almost quietened the voices inside his head to a whisper. But, in the same way, sometimes the voices became unbearably loud.

He would sit there sometimes for hours, just staring, watching. There had often been remarks made on how chilling Nicholas’s stare was.

On the particular large rock the he enjoyed sitting on because of its smooth surface, there was a carving. It was surprisingly deep, and Nicholas wondered what force could possibly have created it. He studied it often, and yet he could never understand what it was supposed to resemble.

When his son was born, he stared at the child in the same way he stared at the carving – with curiosity, but tenderness, as though Andrei was a mystery yet to be solved, and in many ways he was.

Three days after the birth of his son, Nicholas visited the riverside again and suddenly the carving’s image was blindingly clear, and it seemed absurd that he had not seen it sooner: it was two children, together, a boy and a girl. One, it seemed, was lying dead, and the other – the girl – looked unbearably sad. The sudden realisation did not bring Nicholas any satisfaction, and instead unnerved him. The voices became louder.

He no longer visited the riverside.

 

Helene was pleased with her marriage. Her _new husband_ may have been a bore, but _he_ was wealthy, and _he_ was an asset. Perhaps she could breathe new life into _him_.

It was on the day of the proposal – which barely deserved to be called a proposal, as _her fiancé_ had required prompting from Helene’s father every step of the way – that Helene visited the riverside. She was pleased with herself, and so, to reflect, she visited the riverside. She’d gone there once before, but that had been many years ago, and it was difficult to find again. She pushed past bony trees and tried to keep her clothes unmarked. Just as she began to worry that she was lost, the familiar sound of rushing water became clear to her and she raced towards it.

There was mud by the river, and she lifted her skirts. To her relief, she spotted a rock that she remembered from last time and took a seat. It was uncomfortable, but at least she wasn’t on the ground.

The rock was large enough for three people to sit on. Helene considered this, and then realised she was lonely. It was tranquil, yes, but she had never enjoyed tranquillity. She preferred action, parties and lovers and laughter. She preferred to be with her brother, or her friends or his friends or anyone _,_ really, even _her fiancé._ Just not alone.

There was a fear there, and she could not conclude what it was.

She noticed the carving, and remembered it clearly. She had pored over it for hours on her previous visit, and had not yet come to a conclusion of what it resembled. As she stared, it was as though she knew in her heart what the carving represented, but could not say it in her mind.

On the day of her marriage, early in the morning, Helene returned to the riverside and saw clearly what was there, carved into the stone, blindingly obvious: it was a woman, lying dead on the ground, and four men standing over her, seemingly with no pity or remorse. She recognised one as the thin, handsome figure of her brother and another as the large frame of _her fiancé_. She shivered and suddenly nerves began to take control of her.

She no longer visited the riverside.

 

Andrei knew Lise was dead, and still the realisation could not affect him. The feeling inside him could not be described as mourning; it was, to him, a hollowness. An emptiness, as though nothing had meaning.

He found himself walking through the woods, aimless and endless. Time seemed to vanish. Nothing seemed real. Andrei was cold, too cold, but somehow it did not bother him.

He found himself at the riverside without remembering how he came to be there.

Staggering, he sat himself down on the large, smooth stone, his hands unknowingly tracing the carving. He could not understand what was carved there, but he was not concerned with that. Instead he watched the river, The stream never stopped without an obstacle, and it seemed to Andrei that neither did man. The death of his wife was an obstacle, but if he had all the force of a river, perhaps he too could overcome this. Perhaps he could even learn to love again.

He woke up the next day with a fever.

The second time he went to the riverside, the ground was covered in snow and the stream was frozen over. It occurred to Andrei that he, too, had frozen over.

He proposed to Natalya Rostova in summer, and there was such a relief when she accepted that he raced to the riverside. The stream was running as quickly as ever and it seemed to Andrei that he _was_ the river, and Natasha was the sunlight that had melted his heart.

He glanced at the carving and it seemed to take shape before his eyes: it was a pendant, resembling the one he had given to Natasha, but it was broken and shattered. The sunlight suddenly seemed to fade and Andrei felt a coldness within his heart, all too familiar.

He no longer visited the riverside.

 

Mary found her serenity and comfort in church, with the presence of Christ releasing her from her sorrows. When she found her brother was going to war, she wished to pray, but the church near her house suddenly seemed to constraining, too public, with the sickening scent of incense and flickering candles. No, she needed to be outside.

She wandered into the woods and was hoping to linger for only a moment, but instead she felt herself drawn to the riverside. There, she knelt down against the stone to pray, her lips moving but her voice making no sound. She prayed for her brother, for his fiancé, and for her father, who was growing more and more hateful.

She prayed for herself, for strength, and then for forgiveness for being so vain.

She saw the carving there on the stone, but did not dwell on what it could be. It seemed to her that whatever it was, it would be revealed to her when she deserved it.

She was wiser than she gave herself credit for.

On the day that Mary finally met the countess, Andrei’s fiancé, she was overcome with fear and despair. She had behaved terribly to Natalie and did not deserve forgiveness. In tears, she ran to the riverside, freezing but not caring. She flung herself down against the stone, sobbing desperately, snowflakes sprinkled in her hair.

When she looked up, unsure how long she had cried for, the carving caught her eye and it now seemed clear what was carved there: it was a cross, simple and plain, and Mary felt within her a sense of pride and even of happiness. She would apologise to Natasha, for she could do no wrong under the guidance of God.

She no longer had any need to visit the riverside.

 

Anatole was like his sister, though he’d hate to admit it to himself. On the day he realised that he was in love with his _sister,_ his own _sister,_ he desperately needed peace of mind. He brought himself to the woods without knowing how or why.

He sat down there, upon the large, flat stone, and thought for a long time – something he was not fond of doing. _His sister’s husband_ was living proof of what thinking too much could do to a man.

He came to the conclusion that Moscow society – or any society, really – always relied on rules and frowned upon those who disrespected those rules. Anatole decided he would not succumb to the ways of the world. He barely noticed the carving beside him.

The second time Anatole visited the riverside, it was the day he realised he was in love with Dolokhov. He knew now where to find the river, and sat there for some time, head in hands. _Why,_ he thought, _why can’t I simply fall in love with a woman my own age? A woman I am not directly related to?_

Fedya was everything Anatole wished he could be, and Anatole loved that about him. But it was always the same – the rules of this world prevented what he so desperately wanted. He was furious. Scandal had barely been averted last time; what would happen now?

He would tell Fedya how he felt, yes, and then he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

The third time he visited the stream was the day after the opera. Anatole had been stunned by Natalya Rostova, and had not hesitated to show her. He knew he was charming, and the girl, Natasha, would not be able to resist him.

Her engagement was a minor problem.

For the first time, he truly noticed the carving in the rock, and at once he understood it. It was a word.

_Run._

Anatole felt cold.

He no longer visited the riverside.

 

Fedya was a deep thinker, but many could not tell from looking at him. He was loud and he enjoyed the company of anyone, man or woman, in his bedchamber. He drank too much and was known for being intimidating and sometimes even deadly. He wasn’t the man anyone would expect philosophy from.

He first found the riverside on the day he’d finally been permitted to leave the house – the day that his wounds had begun to heal. He cursed himself for being so foolish, having let _a fool_ nearly kill him (and his mother too). Desperate to escape from the doctors and their medicines, he wandered into the woods and found the riverside entirely by accident. The tranquillity he felt there almost erased all memory of the duel from his mind. He sat on the stone and merely thought for some time, about life, and death, and everything in between.

The growing resentment he’d felt towards _the man who almost killed him_ seemed to fade and was instead replaced with _nothing,_ as though _his lover’s husband_ was as insignificant as the fish in the stream.

He noticed the carving, but simply could not understand what was carved there. However, in his new state of mind, the carving barely affected him at all. Instead, he felt almost glad that he could not understand what was carved there. _No,_ he thought. _If a man knows everything, what reason is there to live?_ He felt pleased with this conclusion and did not dwell on the carving any longer.

The second and final time Fedya visited the riverside was the day that Anatole had convinced him to write a love letter – under Anatole’s name – to the countess. His hand, writing those words, had changed him. He had felt himself redden under Anatole’s eager gaze, had felt anger at being persuaded to write the letter in the first place, had felt ashamed that he lacked Anatole’s confidence when it came to love.

The riverside helped him. The simplicity of the place made him once again realise the simplicity of his problems. He would tell Anatole that his plans were ridiculous. He would tell Anatole to forget the Rostova girl. He would tell Anatole how he felt. Yes, he would!

Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at the carving. It shocked him. There was a face carved there, but it wasn’t Helene or Anatole or even Natasha, or anything he had been expecting. Carved there was a face that Fedya had never considered.

_Sofia Alexandrovna._

He no longer visited the riverside.

 

Sonya was a kind, caring, loving soul. The Rostov family disliked her, she knew, but she had her cousin, and with Natasha’s friendship, Sonya would want for nothing. But when their friendship began to crumble, Sonya felt more alone than ever.

Sonya first visited the riverside on the day she read the letter Anatole had sent to Natasha. The argument between her and Natasha had left her in tears, and so she blindly ran through the woods until she came to the riverside. She took a seat on the smooth stone and without thought, began to cry all over again.

Nicholas was probably never to return, and even if he did, she knew the Rostovs would never let them be married. _He is to marry Marya Bolkonskaya,_ Sonya thought bitterly.

With Nikolai off fighting the war, Sonya’s only friend, only support, was Natasha, and if Natasha tried to run away…

The possibility of utter loneliness terrified Sonya.

The carving meant nothing to her.

The second time she visited the riverside was the day Natasha tried to kill herself.

Sonya was devastated. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t run to Marya like a child… But then, wouldn’t Natasha be gone? But then, wasn’t Sonya the one Natasha ran to and told what she had done?

No. Sonya would brave this. Her friendship with her cousin would be repaired. She would survive this, and so would Natasha.

_I will stand in the dark for you._

With curiosity and sincerity, Sonya turned to examine the carving and was surprised by what she saw. It was undoubtedly a face, and it took her only a moment to recognise the features.

_Fyodor Dolokhov._

She no longer visited the riverside.

 

Unlike the others, the first time _he_ ever visited the riverside was not when _he_ was lost, but when _he_ was finally found.

Everyone knew him in some way or another. _Peter Kirilych. Pyotr. Petya._ _Monsieur Kiril._ But to _him, he_ was always _Pierre._

The comet had been in the sky for months, but only now did he really feel a connection to it. The comet understood him like no one else ever had, and he was eternally grateful. And so, on that night, the night that was so cold the tears on his face almost froze, the night where his heart leapt in his chest, the night where he had finally (finally!) told Natasha how he felt.

And now he felt that he was capable of anything.

And so, after the question _where to now?_ had appeared in his mind, he concluded that there was no destination, and there was no need to go anywhere. And so, rather than instructing his driver to take him home, he asked to be brought to the edge of the woods. Just like the comet, the thought of entering the woods at night in the cold brought him no fear and no concern, and only joy. He wished to be free to exist in the world of rules in society, and he wished to be alone, to reflect. And so, he would venture into the woods, and if he became lost – if he never found his way out again – so be it. He would die a happy and better man.

He would die _awake._

And when he arrived, when he ventured into the woods and travelled to the very edge of the trees, to where the water – barely a trickle – was frozen over, he began to laugh joyfully, and sat on the stone. And immediately, as though it had never been a mystery, he saw what the carving depicted. The carving was that of a young woman with a man, and Pierre knew – he _knew_ – exactly who they were.

And he continued to visit the riverside after his arrest, after the war, after his wife’s death, after he remarried – _yes, Natasha Bezukhova has such a lovely ring to it,_ he thought – after each of his children were born, and until the day he died.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Natasha wasn't in this story because while I like her, she strikes me as a one-dimensional character who doesn't reflect on life. The last paragraph was irritating, I know, but that seems to me the way Tolstoy writes - in short sentences, without detail. Thanks for reading!


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